


The Becoming

by New_day



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom Will Graham, Cannibalism, First Time, Hannibal Rising References, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, References to Shakespeare, Top Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 21:47:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15374043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/New_day/pseuds/New_day
Summary: I was aware of his peculiar mind, his way of thinking that was labeled 'empathy disorder' – a term I thoroughly dislike because it makes him appear defective, which he is not and never was – so partly, it was professional curiosity that drew me to him and intrigued me. But I realized even then that this was just part of the reason why this man interested me, in a way nobody ever did before. I realized it when I felt a small twinge in my stomach and a dizziness that seemed strange, but reminded me of something that had been, long ago, in another life. Something I had forgotten, but he made me remember.





	1. Prologue

Frequently, I visit my memory palace to relive the day we met.

I remember his bad temper, his sourly, unfriendly expression. The crude, cheap clothing, unflattering to his slim, but pleasant body, the ugly glasses hiding his beautiful face.

Above all, I remember his bad manners, his rudeness. The way he was addressing me and Jack Crawford, defiantly and discourteously. Anybody else I would have asked for their business card and would have had them for dinner sooner or later, not giving another thought about them.

But with him, it was different because he was special to me from the start. I was aware of his peculiar mind, his way of thinking that was labeled 'empathy disorder' – a term I thoroughly dislike because it makes him appear defective, which he is not and never was – so partly, it was professional curiosity that drew me to him and intrigued me. But I realized even then that this was just part of the reason why this man interested me, in a way nobody ever did before. I realized it when I felt a small twinge in my stomach and a dizziness that seemed strange, but reminded me of something that had been, long ago, in another life. Something I had forgotten, but he made me remember.

Yes, I realized it from the start, though I only fully came to understand it later. And a small part of me knew even back then that he would be mine some day. That it would take effort, time and patience as well as blood and tears. But someday, he would be mine.

What did not occur to me was that this meant I would also be his and would be changed forever.


	2. Chapter 2

He is the one who pushes me down the cliff and the one who pulls me out of the water. When I fall down after our kill I feel privileged, being allowed to die at the most joyous moment of my life.

The pain caused by the impact is excruciating. I must have passed out, and when I regain consciousness, I am lying on the beach, his face above me.

“Hannibal...you are alive.”

I look at up him. “Why did you save me, Will,” I ask, “after trying to kill me?”

Will shakes his head. The wound on his cheek is still bleeding.

“I didn't try to kill you,” he replies. “I wasn't able to make a decision and I left it to fate and circumstance if we should live or die. Or to god, if you want to call it that.”

Despite my pain, I cannot help smiling. “You think god wants us to live?”

He smiles back at me. “Apparently, otherwise, we wouldn't be here.”

***  
It takes months, but with Chiyoh's help, we finally recover from our injuries. We decide to pay Bedelia a visit before leaving for Cuba. When I suggest it to Will, he laughs.

“She should be expecting us,” he says. “I gave her a warning. I told her meat was back on the menu.”

I chuckle and smile at him, proudly and appreciatively.

“But I don't want to kill her,” Will adds.

I can barely contain my disappointment. “And why is that?”

“Because...because she made me understand things about you. And about myself. Without her, I wouldn't have run away with you. I know it's stupid, because I really don't like her, but I think I owe her one for that. I'm not opposed to taking a bite of her, though, “ he remarks, winking at me.

This makes me smile again. “What did Bedelia make you understand about me, Will?” I question curiously.

He is silent for a moment, then he says slowly: “That you are...in love with me.”

His reply renders me speechless for some moments. Then I finally ask him: “You didn't know? After everything that happened between us and everything I did, you are telling me you didn't know and had to ask Bedelia of all people for confirmation? You should have asked me, I would have told you. And I did, Will. Not in these words exactly, but I did tell you, many times.”

His averts his eyes, obviously feeling uncomfortable. “I guess...I knew, in a way. But I think I needed Bedelia to say it out loud to really realize it.”

I do not respond. I have always been under the impression that Will understood me fully, because he was the first to take a glimpse beneath my person suit and realize the truth. Because he found out that I was a killer and that I elevated my victims to art by displaying them and also ate them like the pigs that they were. But now I cannot help but wonder if despite everything we experienced together, he still believed me to be an empty shell, void of emotion and unable to care about another human being.

I do not wish him to see how much this thought upsets me, so I try to distract him by asking:

“And what did Bedelia make you realize about yourself?”

Again, he is silent for a little while before answering: “That I...that I wanted to kill Dolarhyde.”

***

Will is the one holding the saw, blood covering his hands and splattering his face. I behold him, awed by his beauty.

I give him instructions while he is cutting off Bedelia's leg. I take his hand to guide him, and we are smiling at each other.

Bedelia is observing us. We have given her regional anesthesia, and she is drugged, but conscious.

“I suppose,” she remarks, looking at Will, “we both know the answer to my question.”

Will stops for a moment, gives her a look and says in a cold voice:

“The answer is 'yes'.”

He continues sawing, and Bedelia responds, smirking:

“Of course it is. I knew it.”

***

After we cut off her leg, we bandage Bedelia, dress her in a beautiful blue dress and do her hair and make up. Then I can finally begin to cook. I prepare Kalua-roast leg wrapped in ti leaves with flowers and fruits, and Will assists me and sets the table according to my instructions. We sit down and start to eat, and I am pleased with the exquisite taste of Bedelia's leg. Will compliments my cooking, while Bedelia refuses to eat and makes a pathetic and futile attempt to attack us with her fork. We leave her, mutilated, but alive, and I still regret that we will not kill her together.

When we are back in the car, on our way to the safe house, I finally ask Will:

“What was the question? When you were cutting off her leg, you told Bedelia the answer was 'yes'. Would you mind telling me what the question was, Will?”

He just chuckles, gives me a sideways glance and says: “No offense, but this should remain between me and my psychiatrist, Hannibal.”

This is not the answer I was hoping for, but I do not inquire any further.

***

We have been in Cuba for half a year now. We are friendly with the neighbors and get along with the people in the small town we live in. I suspect that some of them disapprove of two men living together, but nobody has ever said anything the like to our face.

Will fixes boat motors, sometimes cars, I write articles for online magazines on psychology and medicine. We live in a beautiful house that is, as Will pointed out when I bought it, 'much too big for two people.' But after being confined to a prison cell for years, I very much appreciate the space. Though I would be willing to live in a small cabin or even in a prison cell again, if he were with me.

In the evening, we often spend our time together, I draw or read my books while Will browses the web. As Bedelia has given numerous interviews after our departure, everybody is aware that we are alive, and there is an abundant amount of stories about us, most of them vulgar, some amusing. Will reads them to me, and while most articles sour his temper, I often find myself chuckling. On these evenings, I also teach Will Spanish, taking pride in his quick grasp of the unfamiliar language.

Though the villagers probably believe us to be intimate, the truth is that we have never even touched since we arrived here. Just by chance, at dinner, when Will passes me a bowl, or when we sit next to each other while I teach him Spanish and my shoulder accidentally brushes his. But apart from that, there has been no physical contact. I still remember vividly Will's embrace before he pushed us down the cliff, his head on my shoulder, the firm grip of his hand. It would delight me immensely to feel his touch again, and I must admit I often fantasize about it. I imagine Will coming to my bedroom at night, to take me or let himself be taken by me. But should he never wish to become intimate with me in this manner, I will still be content to have him by my side. Because even if he does not share my bed, he is still mine.

***

One unfortunate day, we get an addition to our household, a small mutt that Will found and brings home with him, an ugly, unpleasant creature. Soon our house is covered in dog hair, and the objectionable odor of the dog lingers in every room. Our precious evenings spend alone together are past, the creature constantly demanding Will's attention, wanting to be fed, walked, petted. I often imagine Will going to the village to run some errands, leaving me alone with the mutt. I would take it to the shore and throw it in the sea, telling Will that it has run away. But Will always takes the dog with him, wherever he goes, making me wonder if he just enjoys its company or possibly guesses my intentions.

Finally, I find myself getting used to the ugly little creature. I cannot deny that Will finds delight in it, and though I wish to be the sole cause of his delight, I am aware that Will has always had a special attachment to dogs, long before he was mine. There are things I took away from him and cannot give him back, but I can let him have this and have decided that I will, for now.


	3. Chapter 3

One morning, Will approaches me and tells me that he wants to kill again.

I am overjoyed, I have hoped for this for so long, but have begun to fear that the day would never come, that he would never feel the urge to kill again. When I ask him if he has already decided whom to kill, I am hoping that his answer will be Jack Crawford. But instead, he points at his computer screen.

“I have found someone on the internet. He lives in London, and I hacked his and his family's email accounts and social media profiles and found out that his wife and kids are visiting the grandparents next weekend. I want us to fly to London and kill this pig while his family is away.”

“London?” I ask with a frown. “ That's a long flight, Will. And it seems a bit hazardous. After Bedelia told the world that we are still alive, we have to be very careful if we don't want to be caught.”

Will sighs. “Don't worry, Hannibal, we will be careful. We won't be caught. I have to do this. Look at this. I know that you...don't care about anybody except yourself...well, and me, but...just look at this. Look what he did, Hannibal.” He points at the screen.

I take a look, and when I see the little blond girl looking in the camera, it is as if a door is opening just a crack, a door to a room in my memory palace I have not entered in many years. Suddenly, I hear a small voice calling me.

“...Anniba...Anniba...”

“Are you okay?” Will is looking at me, concern in his eyes, and I nod quickly.

“Yes, of course. If this is really that important to you, we will kill him. I will book the airplane tickets.”

***

When we arrive in London, I insist on going to the Globe Theatre before we kill him.

If we are in London already, we might as well do something beautiful besides killing. 

“What if we are recognized?” Will asks, and I answer: “You are the one who was adamant to come here and put us at risk in the first place, Will. But since nobody has detected us so far, I'm optimistic that luck won't forsake us.”

Luck does not forsake us, and we take our seats in the magnificent theater unrecognized. We watch Othello fall victim to a scheme, resulting in him killing his wife, and on the way back to our hotel, Will remarks: “I bet you've got sympathy for Othello. You're the most jealous person I've ever met.”

I think for a moment before responding: “Though I have to admit that I do sympathize with him, I might not kill my wife, but Cassio, her alleged lover, if I were Othello.”

Will gives me a sideways glance. “Do you think about killing Molly?”

I nod. “Yes,” I answer. “Frequently.”

Will frowns at me. “You know that I would leave you for good if you did, Hannibal.”

“Yes, I know.”

And we both know that I will not harm her for that reason, as much as it angers and pains me that there is someone walking this earth who has intimate knowledge of him, who has shared his life for years and has come to know him in ways I might never experience.

***

Will looks glorious after the kill.

We are in our victim's house, a beautiful, comfortable place. Furnished and decorated in an unpretentious, but appealing way, with bright, cheerful colors and plants and pictures everywhere. Pictures of a family: The inconspicuous middle aged man we just murdered, his wife, a little younger, attractive and smiling in every picture, a sulky, slightly overweight teenage boy. And the little girl, staring in the camera with the same scared look that we already know.

I allowed Will to strike the final blow and cut our prey's throat. I watched the blood drip on his handsome features, rendering them strikingly beautiful. With delight I saw the fire in his eyes, the rage and satisfaction.

When it is done and the pig is lying on the ground, he reaches out for me. I walk over to him, and he embraces me. I smell his and his victim's blood, his sweat and his arousal and can feel his erection like he can feel my own. He cups my face and kisses me, taking me by surprise. I kiss him back, pressing him closer to me, but suddenly, he frees himself from our embrace and takes a step back.

“We have to hurry,” he says. “We need to dispose of the body. I don't want his family to find him here.”

I nod. “Very well. But first, I would like to extract some flesh.”

Will curls his lip in disdain. “I don't want to eat anything of this pig. The mere thought disgusts me.”

“Well,” I say, “That's really a pity, but maybe you will change your mind. I for one am looking forward to tasting long pig again. And I'm sure the mutt will like it as well.”

“Sally,” Will corrects me, “Her name is Sally. Stop calling her 'the mutt', Hannibal.”

I sigh. I wish Will had thought of a less mundane name. Perhaps I should suggest renaming her Desdemona.

***

A few days later, when we are back at our house in Cuba, he finally comes to my bedroom to let me take him, though he phrases it in much cruder words. 

He enters my room in the middle of the night, undresses himself and says: “I want you to fuck me, Hannibal.”

I wince at his words, tempted to tell him to leave, but the situation is just too intriguing to end it. When he lays down next to me, I know that for him, this is the last stage of his becoming. The last thing he has to give me after running away and killing with me to become truly mine and in consequence to dispose of everything that still makes him human. He is finally willing to let the beast swallow him whole. 

I would have preferred him to come to me because he wishes to be with me, not to make a statement. But I am not prepared to send him away, for whatever reason he might have come.

Slowly, I open him for me, using lubricant, my fingers and the item I bought, hoping that this situation might occur one day. I have suspected before that nobody ever touched Will in this manner, and now I can tell it is true. His body needs to adjust and is tense at first, but he is willing and responsive. Soon, I feel him becoming relaxed and content, looking up at me with a smile and saying my name in his lovely drawl.

When I finally take him, I can see the pain I cause reflected on his face. It excites me that it is me who causes this pain and that he allows me to inflict it. But I do not want to give him more pain than he can take. I want this to be a pleasurable experience, want him to come back for more.

I push into him carefully and am pleased when he starts to enjoy himself, moaning softly and embracing me. I take hold of his erect penis and stroke it till I make him come, while caressing with my other hand the scar I gave him. Only then I allow myself to let go, to push a little harder and spill into him, marking him inside like I marked him outside already.

He looks me in the eye and says, softly: “Hannibal...you are crying.”

I am about to tell him that he is mistaken when I realize that he is right, that there are indeed tears running down my face.

I look at him and touch his face, his flushed cheeks, his curls, wet with sweat, his lips, swollen by my kisses. I feel powerless and exposed.

Perhaps I should have done it. Perhaps I should have killed him and eaten his brain, like I planned. I still could.

But I know that if I killed him, I might as well turn myself in. Or end my own life. Because I would not be able to find joy in anything ever again. Not in art, not in music, not in books, not in cooking nor in killing. Because I know that without him, there will be no point in anything at all.


End file.
